Mrs Potts' Origins
by SS Dispatch
Summary: Long before she ever knew the Prince, long before the curse was ever inflicted, Mrs. Potts - once known as Angela Lafitte - was an unlucky woman living in unhappy circumstances. This is long lost story of a young woman learning to open herself to love and rediscover her family.


_Approximately 1700, France_

Mademoiselle Lafitte was in a tight spot, literally and figuratively. She was cramped inside of a rather small crate, and she was also pregnant and unmarried. Both were unhelpful, one more so than the other. She waited until she heard no noise in the street outside of the alleyway she was presently hiding in. Once there was silence, she unpacked herself from the tiny crate and headed down the street, dodging the oil street lamps. Paris was not the biggest city in France, but it was big enough. Big enough to be dangerous for a girl who was pregnant out of wedlock. She had sent a letter to her older sister in Villeneuve who had paid for a buggy to pick her up just outside of the borders of Paris. She ran through the streets quickly, eventually making it straight out of the city and finding the buggy waiting for her on the eastern border. The driver appeared to be a young man, but when he spoke Marguerite immediately could tell that the driver was a woman in disguise. "Good evening Mademoiselle Lafitte. We should get you to Villeneuve before dawn."

Marguerite nodded as she climbed into the back of the buggy, grateful for the sudden peace and quiet that greeted her within it. She was exhausted. She had spent days foraging for food, barely resting a wink for days. So the minute they headed out, she fell asleep immediately.

She woke again when she arrived at her sister Madeline's house. It was a small little cottage in town. She headed out of the buggy and thanked the driver as she rode off. She knocked quietly on the front door. Indeed, few had woken yet as the dawn had not yet broken. The door opened, and her sister quickly ushered her in. Her sister was far fairer than Marguerite, standing a few inches taller (and straighter) with much longer and richer hair. Marguerite, on the other hand, had nondescript dirty blonde hair and walked with a slight slouch. "Come, come. I have a room for you." She whispered frantically, ushering Marguerite up the stairs. Her husband had been informed of the plan but had refused to take part in it. His bedroom was on the first floor with Madeline. Marguerite would be sleeping on the top floor.

Madeline opened the door to the bedroom, and her sister walked in. "Mad, is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes, I would have said something sooner, but I didn't think it appropriate." Madeline apologized nervously, stepping into the room with her though there was little room.

"How long until …?" Marguerite asked, staring at the pair of bassinets in the corner of the room across from the narrow bed that was clearly meant for Marguerite.

"About as long as you have left, I suspect. We should be due around the same time." Madeline said, her guilt melting away to show her excitement.

Marguerite breathed a sigh of total relief and hugged her sister tight. "You'll just say you had twins then?"

"Yes. It's going to be alright." Madeline said, rubbing a hand across her sister's back to reassure her like she had when they were young. "Nobody will ever know but us."

"Do we tell them the truth?" Marguerite asked cautiously, pulling away from her sister and resting a hand on her vaguely swollen belly. A midwife would have placed her around three months. Her sister was closer to four months.

Madeline couldn't help but mimic the gesture, "I suppose we should. It'd be wrong to tell them they're twins when they aren't. Even to tell them they're sisters when they're not."

"But what if they tell someone that the truth? No, she must think that Pierre Dubois is her father. We can tell them when they're a little older, perhaps. When we can be sure that they will not accidentally tell anyone else."

"Deal." Madeline agreed strongly. It was the safest way for Marguerite's child to live. If word ever got out that her child was a bastard, that child would be marked from birth to a doomed life. But if they grew up as siblings of a married couple, they would be safe. Marguerite would be a loving aunt to her own child until such a time when it was safe to disclose the truth.

* * *

 _Twenty Five Years Later_

"I'm going to fetch more flour for Chef Bouche." Angela Lafitte said with a tone of boredom to her cousin, Esme. _Although,_ Angela thought, _she's to be addressed as_ Queen _Esme now_. Despite the fact that it had been nearly five years since her most beloved cousin, whom she saw as practically a sister, had married the King of the region, Angela was still not used to it. Their family had moved into the castle, taking only three of the nearly endless number of spare rooms. Angela kept herself busy most days by helping Chef Bouche in the kitchen from time to time and making tea in the afternoon for everybody. Her mother, Marguerite, usually sewed the day away while her aunt, the Queen's mother, spent all day doing absolutely nothing. She had let the fame of being the Queen's mother get to her head and preferred to spend her days in luxury. But someone had to see to it that things ran smoothly about the castle, so Angela had decided to do a little shopping on behalf of the cook. Not that she really wanted to. She would much rather be spending the day with her cousin, gabbing away about some nonsense. She hoped that her tone would convey this, but Esme barely glanced up from the papers sprawled on her desk, "Alright, I'll see you at dinner then."

Angela rolled her eyes, which Esme did not notice, and left the study room. It was way too large to be a study, that was for sure. Esme had been working for weeks for a plan to build a library in the space instead. Angela was sure that all of those papers were filled with book titles to be purchased to fill the space. But it hardly mattered to her. She wasn't much of a reader. The only books she read were cookbooks. In a huff, she stormed down the stairs of the castle and out the front door. She was getting very fed up with how Esme had been acting lately; as if she no longer mattered to her, as if they had not grown up literally side by side.

She saddled up a horse in the stable and headed for town, encouraging the horse to go as fast as it liked. This run was less of a chore for her and more of a chance to escape. The wind blew her long, dirty blonde hair back. She did her best to let her anger and sadness go. Her cousin had been causing her so much grief and pain. She just wanted to feel closer with her again. But that wasn't likely to happen, and there was no point of worrying about it on a market run, so she let the wind blow the thoughts right out of her mind as she strode into town. She slowed once they hit the paved streets, coming down to an idling trot until she found a post to tie her steed up at. She carefully lifted herself off the saddle and headed down the cobbled streets toward the market in the middle of town.

She heard many men and women hollering out their offerings and prices, "Bacon! Nice fat bacon o'er here!" and "Fresh baked rolls! Fresh breads c'mon down!" Usually, Angela spent much of her time in silence, with occasional conversations with the chef or her mother. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace was a nice change, though she knew she could never prefer it to her quiet home in the castle. She headed toward the baker's stand where the man was still shouting about his bread and its prices. A young woman was working the stand, and this was whom Angela approached, "Two bags of flour please." The woman nodded and quietly handed her the flour in exchange for the coins Bouche had given Angela for the goods. She walked across the street for some produce. She had not strictly been asked to get some, but Bouche always asked her to get any "fresh and beautiful" fruits and vegetables if she ever happened to find them. This was also why she had a little extra coin.

It was when she was halfway across the street that she ran into someone. She fell and heard a poof and a crash. Her eyes had shut as she hit the ground, and as she opened them, she could immediately tell flour was covering her eyes. Her whole body was coated in flour. She sighed as she looked at the ground in front of her where her one of her bags of flour had exploded. The other remained unharmed. She sighed and flour blew off her chest. She shut her lips quickly to stop it from flying into her mouth. She only now registered that something else had been ruined in the crash. A ceramic something was in shards around her flour. One of the shards had impaled the split flour bag. "I'm so sorry. I think I turned around as you walked forward. My fault entirely." A voice said through the fog of flour floating in the air. She looked up and saw a young man standing before her, he offered a hand to her and she took it gratefully to get back on her feet.

The young man was faintly dusted with flour as well, but not quite as bad. There were townsfolk staring at them curiously. Angela couldn't help but blush. "It's really okay. I have enough to afford to replace the bag of flour." She assured as she tried to dust what she could off of her front and her face.

"No, please. Allow me to replace it for you." The young man insisted.

Angela looked him over. He was on the shorter side, but he was fairly lean and had a storm of curly light brown hair and dark eyes. Beside him was a small cart of ceramics: pots, cups, tea trays, bowls, even spoons. She looked back down at the shattered pieces of clay on the ground. "Oh my goodness, I destroyed one of your pieces." She realized out loud.

"Oh, it's no problem, really. I can always make more." He tried to assure her, but she couldn't help but notice the slight hesitation in his voice. A closer look at him and she noticed that his clothes were fraying, old, and dim.

Angela fished in the pocket of her dress for a gold piece and handed it to him. He looked at her incredulously, "Oh i-it's worth far less than that!" He stammered frantically.

"I insist on paying you for the damage. Believe me; I can afford it." She reassured him, cupping his open hand in hers and slowly pushing his fingers down around the coin. "I feel terrible for having destroyed one of your beautiful pieces. So please let this serve as a means to create something even better."

"Y-yes Madame." He said, his eyes still wide with the shock of being given so much.

"Mademoiselle, I'm not married." She laughed lightly, "But you can call me Angela."

"Thank you Angela." He said politely. "Where are you from? I have not seen you in town."

"Oh," She blushed brightly, trying to remain humble, "I live just up in the … castle."

She thought his eyes couldn't get any wider if he tried. "Th-th-the castle?"

"I just work there." She waved it off quickly, afraid he was convinced she was a princess or the Queen herself.

"Oh, I see." He explained, "Well, are you sure you won't have me pay for the flour?" He asked, gesturing toward the slaughtered bag on the ground.

She knelt a bit and picked up the surviving bag and assured, "Yes, I'm sure. I can buy another. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Alright. If you insist. Thank you for the … help." He said a bit shyly.

"Not a problem, sir."

"Jean. It's Jean. Jean Potts. I'm sorry. I should have said earlier." He said quickly, stumbling all over his words again. She wasn't sure what he was so nervous about.

"Well, Jean Potts, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Good luck with your pottery." She said politely with a small curtsy. He nodded and watched her walk away, a look of mystification shrouding his expression.

Angela stopped to buy one more bag of flour. The young woman sold her another with a little smirk. Angela ignored it as she headed back to the post and untied her horse from it, setting back to the castle with her flour in the saddlebags. She realized that she had not gone to check the produce as she intended. She shook her head (flour flying in the wind) as she reminded herself she could get produce for them later. They had plenty from the garden already. As she pulled up to the stable on the castle grounds, she couldn't help but think of Jean Potts again. She hoped he kept making pottery. They were quite lovely. On a normal day, she likely would have purchased something for herself.

It just so happened that the next day, when she headed out early in the morning to harvest some of the produce and feed the horses there was a small teapot sitting on the doorstep of the castle with a single note attached that simply read, "May I join you for tea today? -Jean"

* * *

 _Afternoon Tea_

"You painted it too?" Angela asked incredulously as she looked down at the teacup in her hands, half filled with chamomile. There were intricate details painted along the rim and base of the cup in gold. The teapot sitting on the table between them had a similar design, as they were a matching set.

"Yes, but it isn't all that difficult," Jean said humbly.

"Oh, I could never make such exquisite things. Your work is truly wonderful, don't sell yourself short." Angela said firmly.

A slight rose tint came to his cheeks, "You're too kind."

"Now, did you make it before or after I wrecked the one you had in town?" Angela asked curiously, nodding toward the teapot that had been resting on her doorstep hours before.

"Well, I already had one cooling and I decided to polish it off and paint it overnight. So, both I suppose."

It did not escape Angela's notice that he was likely underplaying his work. She had a feeling he had been up late into the night to paint the teapot (and cup) for her. The significance of this likelihood did not escape her notice. "Why do I get the impression you're too humble for your own good?"

He looked at her with wide, flustered eyes, "Beg pardon?"

"When did you finish painting these yesterday?"

He looked away shyly and shrugged, fiddling with his cup between his own hands, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe around two … in the morning."

"I thought so." She said with a little smile, "Jean, you shouldn't undervalue your own talent. Nobody will ever know how wonderful your work is if you don't show it off now and again. You should take pride in your work."

His cheeks flushed, "I-I suppose you're right. I guess I'm just used to people being … rather unimpressed by my occupation and my work in turn."

Angela was a bit surprised by this. She never considered that anyone would think less of someone who was a potter. She thought she, with no real occupational title, had a worthless job. But how could anyone think less of someone with such creative talents as he? "Well, I love what you do. It is nothing but impressive."

His cheeks maintained their red hue as he smiled, bashfully muttering his thanks. After a moment of silence to respectively sip at their tea, Angela couldn't help but ask, "So, I hope you don't mind me asking, but why did you ask me to tea today? You don't owe it to me after yesterday, so don't even go down that route." She teased mildly. How was it that in such a short amount of time she had noticed Jean's constant need to be humble and polite?

"I can't deny…I asked you to tea simply because I … well, I rather like you. I've never met a woman quite as ... insistent? No, that's not the right word." He said awkwardly, sighing in frustration to think of the right word.

"You mean you've never met a woman who doesn't respond to needless niceties and humility? How I refused to let you buy me another bag of flour?"

"Yes. Most women would have just agreed." He tried to explain. "Even if you likely have more means to afford a replacement than I do, it's still polite for me to replace what I broke."

"It's not fair though. Hence why I wouldn't let you." She said with a little smile. She was flattered that Jean had not noticed her for her looks, nor had he asked her to tea because she obviously had money since she lived in the castle. In truth, she did have quite a lot of money that she was paid for her work for Bouche — along with the nice donation from Esme when she had first become queen.

Jean smiled, "You're not like the other women in town."

Angela couldn't help but laugh, "Jean if I didn't know any better I would say you have a crush on me."

With a sudden stroke of bravado Jean said, "In fact, I do. Though that doesn't sound like quite the right word. Enamored sounds better."

Now it was her turn to blush. She had suspected he was interested, but it was another thing entirely for him to admit it out loud. She considered him for a moment. He was cute. His curls were simply adorable, and his dark eyes were inviting. She certainly had not felt a thing for him upon meeting him, but now she wasn't sure what she felt. Was that her heart fluttering or was that her stomach digesting? She couldn't tell. In this moment of silence where Angela attempted to arrange her thoughts, Jean's bravado faded rapidly. His smile diminished, his eyes looked down. "'S'alright." He muttered. "I understand."

"What?" She asked, genuinely not understanding what he was referring to, having been so caught up in her own thoughts.

"I take it you're not interested."

"That's not true. I-I'm … I'm not sure. Can't we be friends first and then sort it out?" She asked cautiously. She had no idea how she felt about him, but she knew that she wanted to get to know him better. Perhaps it would be best to learn about him outside of a romantic context. Ever hopeful that this meant she could someday learn to love him, Jean agreed.

From that day on, they spent a great deal of time together. Nearly every day they would visit each other. Most of the time she came down into town to see him, but after several months of this he grew impatient and asked to see where she lived. "You realize that means meeting my entire family." She said dismissively, assuming he would not want to go. But he insisted that he wanted to meet them and see who she came from. And that was how Angela found herself standing in her cousin's library (now finished) trying to have a conversation with her again.

"Esme?" Angela called, for Esme was on a ladder high up among the shelves.

Esme carefully came down a few rungs and looked down at her cousin, "Yes?"

Angela fumbled over her words. It had been so long since Esme had even made so much as direct eye contact with her. "I-I have a friend who wants to come over and meet my family."

"A male friend," Esme said, notable not making it a question as she turned back to the shelves and rearranged a few out of place books.

"Yes, but I don't think it's like that."

"That's what they all say," Esme muttered so Angela couldn't hear her. "Are you sure he isn't just using you to get to me?"

Several moments passed in silence. Esme turned to see if her cousin was still there. Indeed, Angela was still standing at the bottom of the ladder. Her face had turned slightly red and her hands were balled up in fists at the side. Before Esme could say another word, Angela burst out a loud yell of frustration. And then the levy broke, "How dare you? Not everything is about you Esme! Ever since you became queen, you've been so full of yourself. Suddenly everyone must be begging to meet you because you're the queen. Well, guess what? There's no line out the door! Nobody is coming to kiss the queen's ring! So no, he's not coming because he's using me to get to you. Pretty sure he doesn't know the royal queen's name. So just get off your high horse already! You're not better than me and you're not better than me or our family so quit acting like it. Ever since we moved here, you've treated us like dirt. Well, I'm absolutely done with it. I don't want Queen Esme. I want my sister!"

And just like that, Angela stormed out of the library, slamming the door behind her. She had still not figured out whether or not Jean would be welcome, but she figured that after such a fiasco as that he probably should not come by anytime soon. She wrote a brief letter to him, simply advising him not to come by this week as things had gone awry and sent it to town with Bouche. She was not willing to see him right now. She was too distraught. He had never quite seen her like this, and she didn't want him to. So instead of going to see him herself she made her way to her room, fell face first on her hard bed, and cried. After several minutes there was a knock at her door. She briefly hoped it was Esme, but when she said, "Come in," it was not Esme who walked in. It was her mother, Marguerite.

Her gray hair was tied up in a bun on her head, her clothes were plain, and her back was hunched. But she was still Angela's mother. Even when she had been lead to believe that she was only her aunt, Angela had always felt closest to her. When young Angie had slipped and cut open her knee and ripped her dress it was Marguerite who held her and assured her it would be okay. "Mama," Angela said happily through her tears. She stumbled off her bed and reached for her mother, holding her tight in her arms. "Can we leave? I don't want to live here anymore." She admitted against her mother's shoulder.

"Why don't you want to live here?"

"Because Esme is terrible and aunt Madeline is no better. Their heads have gotten so big. I just can't stand it."

Her mother gently rubbed her back, "I know my love. I know. I want my sister back too. Madeline always wanted the wealthy life, and now she has it. I doubt there's much hope she'll change. But there is still hope for Esme. You just have to make her see."

Angela laughed as she let go of her mother, moving to sit on her bed again, "I think I might have yelled it at her instead."

"Ahh, I see. That was what all the banging was about." Marguerite sat next to her daughter, taking her hand in hers and holding it tight. "Consider all of this from her perspective." Angela snorted dismissively, clearly thinking that Esme had a perfect life. "Now, now. None of that. She wanted to marry the man she loved, she did not want to marry his money. She found herself with a title she had not expected to hold, and all the weight that comes with it. Unlike you, I spent all day here, roaming these halls. I have seen and heard thing I ought not to have, simply by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She has not taken well to the throne, despite what you may think. She's generally miserable. Try talking to her, hearing her out, make her talk and make sure you listen." Her mother advised sagely.

Angela would have doubted these statements had they come from anybody else. But this was her mother, and her mother never lied to her. "Alright. I'll try to talk to her. But I can't promise it will go over well."

* * *

 _A week later_

It took ages to pluck up the nerve to talk to Esme again. A week had passed since their epic fight, and they both had been actively avoiding one another. Finally, Angela decided it was time to talk. She tried the library first but Esme was not to be found there. She meandered down the hall toward the king and queen's room. She waited to see if she heard any noise coming from within - nothing. She knocked quietly. A muffled voice told her to enter. She opened the door and found Esme sitting in the corner in a large plush chair, gazing out the window. She didn't look over to see who had entered; she could see Angela's reflection in the window.

"Es, can we talk?" Angela asked tentatively.

"I suppose we ought to," Esme spoke quietly to the window.

Angela wandered over toward her cousin, standing a few feet away from the window where she sat. "I'm sorry that I yelled at you the other day. That wasn't fair."

"It's alright. Thank you for the apology." Esme said patiently, still not facing Angela.

"But I did mean it when I said I missed you." Ange murmured gently. Esme did not move. "I miss our late night talks over tea. I miss talking to you at all, really. I don't know what you've been up to lately, and you didn't know I've been spending time with Jean the past few months. It's like we have forgotten each other. Do you know what I mean?"

Esme hummed a moment before answering, "I suppose I do. I have missed you as well."

It wasn't much, but Angela knew it was promising. "Well, maybe it's not too late to start talking again?"

Her cousin's eyes finally glanced toward her and her lips curved up in the faintest smile, "Perhaps."

"Well, I'm just nattering on and on over here. Why don't you start then?"

Esme looked back to her window and sighed, her breath fogging the glass a bit. After a few long moments of silence (during which Angela forced herself not to speak) Esme composed herself and did her best to start a conversation, "I have not wanted to talk as much because my talk has caused me problems before. I'm usually silenced when I talk too much."

"What do you mean? Who has silenced you?"

Esme shook her head, not able to say. Instead, she glanced over toward the door before quickly looking back to the window. The expression on Angela's face slowly sunk in realization. "He hurts you. Doesn't he?" Esme turned completely to face her cousin, and only then in that light was Angela able to see the makeup caked over her neck and her left eye. She wondered what her long sleeved dress was hiding.

"Oh Esme, why didn't you tell me? I could have …" She paused, unsure of what she could have possibly done.

Esme nodded a bit, "That's why I didn't tell you. There's nothing you could have done. Anything you might have said or done to him would have been seen as a threat to the throne and you could have been imprisoned."

"But I could have at least supported you, been there for you," Angela argued. Esme didn't have the willpower to defend her decisions anymore, she sighed and turned back to the window. "Listen, I'll be here for you now, alright? You come to me when you hurt, physically or emotionally."

Esme nodded, "Alright, but that's really not the worst of it."

"What could possibly be worse?" Angela groaned, fearing the worst.

"He … I'm …" Esme tried to spit it out but struggled. She took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm pregnant." It was the first time she had been able to verbally say it. The King did not even know yet. She was terrified to tell him.

Angela's expression was hard to read, "I — I'm very confused." She admitted, "I want to be happy that you're having a baby, but you don't seem very happy about it. Was it … he didn't … this baby isn't …" The thought formulated clearly in her mind but getting it out was another thing entirely.

Esme seemed to understand what she was trying to say, "No. He didn't do that to me. This baby came about through the usual means."

Angela let out a sigh of relief, "Then why are you so sad you're pregnant?"

Esme shook her head and shut her eyes. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a headache creeping up. "I'm the Queen. If I can't produce an heir … well, he could be as bad as Henry VIII in Britain. I know he probably isn't that extreme, but it's a possibility. In the very least, if it's a girl he might just leave me and take her from me and marry someone else who can carry a boy for him. All I can do is pray and pray that it's a boy. That's the only way I think me or this child can be safe from his wrath. Perhaps if I bear an heir he won't hurt me as much." She confessed every terrifying possibility that had passed through her mind in the month or two that she had known she was pregnant.

Angela let out a deep breath. This was a rough spot that her cousin was in, but now more than ever she was going to need her by her side. So Angela stood and crouched in front of the chair that her cousin sat in. She grasped her hand that rested on the arm of the chair and held it fast in her own hands. "Listen to me." She said firmly. Esme's eyes turned toward her. "You're going to get through this. You can tell him you're pregnant. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed. He will probably threaten for it to be a boy or else. That much is probably true. But he won't hurt you while you're pregnant. He wouldn't dare hurt the potential carrier of his heir. And when this beautiful baby is born we are going to love it no matter what. If it's a little girl, I will take care of you and her and we will run off together. If it's a boy, we will give it all the love his father will never be able to give him. Do you understand me?" Her voice shook with determination and she could feel tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

Esme broke into tears and nodded, "Yes. I understand. Thank you, Ange. I don't know what I would do without you." The two stood and held each other for a long time. After a while, they finally separated and couldn't help but laugh through their tears, wiping them off their cheeks. "So, all the sorrow aside, would you like to meet the man I've been seeing?" This made Esme smile and laugh again, mostly over how ridiculous their lives had become. "Of course. I would love to meet him. I need to make sure he's worthy of my sister."

* * *

 _Shortly thereafter_

"Should I curtsy?" Jean asked tentatively as they waited outside the closed doors to the massive dining hall in the castle.

"Absolutely not," Angela advised wisely.

"You're sure?"

"Definitely. Now, are you ready to stop stalling and eat?" Angela asked with a little smirk. Jean looked over at her and blushed a bit, "Is it that obvious that I'm nervous?"

"For me, yes. But I doubt they'll notice. They don't know you half as well as I do." Angela reasoned logically. He nodded, reassured by this. "Alright. Let's go." He said with as much bravery as he could muster. She reached out and squeezed his hand tightly before letting go and opening the heavy door. Inside her small family was sitting on the opposite end of the obscenely long dining table. At the head of this table was Esme. The King had not been invited, in fact he had no idea it was happening as he was off in Germany trying to reach some kind of agreement with Queen Snow. Esme stood and the others joined her. Angela glanced back at Jean and saw his blush had not faded. She took the first step in and headed down the room, moving to sit beside her mother in the empty seat. Jean went on the other side and sat across from Angela. Unfortunately, this meant that he was sitting beside the stiff Madeline. She was not interested in meeting a "commoner" as she had put it the night before.

Esme sat and the others followed suit. "It's a pleasure to have you dining with us today Monsieur Potts."

"It's a pleasure to be invited your majesty." Jean quickly said. Angela winced a bit.

"Please," Esme said immediately, "I'm not royalty here. Here I'm just Esme."

Jean was humbled but took it in stride, though his blush was still prominent, "My apologies, Esme. This is all so new to me."

"Oh, don't worry yourself. We're just like any other family." Esme tried to reassure, although this comment was somewhat undermined as the servants entered the room and served them their food. It was now Esme's turn to blush as the servants exited the room just as promptly, "Well, as normal as a family can be when it marries into royalty."

A few minutes into their eating, Jean felt compelled to ask, "I don't believe Angela has told me, but how are you all related?" He privately wondered why there was no other men at the table, but he figured that would be far too blunt to mention at the table.

Madeline scowled beside him, "Angela, the man doesn't even know your history. You must not have as much interest in him as you let on if you don't tell him the most basic information."

"Madeline," Angela said crisply, "If memory serves correctly, you were the one who told me when I was twelve that we were never to tell the truth to a single soul. So, as I always have, I simply was obeying your commands."

"For goodness sake's child, you can't hold words against me when I spoke them a decade ago," Madeline countered bitterly.

"Would you both put a cork in it," Marguerite said flatly.

Jean was sufficiently puzzled. Marguerite looked at him sympathetically, "You'll have to forgive us, Jean. This family has always existed in an odd predicament. Madeline and Angela are still at odds about it, so you'll have to forgive their spats. The name's Marguerite, by the way. I'm Angela's mother. Madeline is Esme's mother and my sister."

Jean nodded slowly as Esme added, "What Angela was not telling you was that she's was born a bastard. We don't take any shame in it. She was raised as my sister rather than my cousin, so we're closer than most." She acknowledged with a smile toward Angela. She turned toward Madeline then, "And you would do to not be so fresh at the dining table, mother."

Madeline rolled her eyes but did not speak. Jean immediately recognized why Angela had been a bit hesitant to have him meet her family. But the luncheon continued on with less drama as he sat and chatted mostly with Esme and Marguerite. Madeline had felt so offended that she decided not to talk, and even left the lunch early. A few times Angela and Jean exchanged a remark or two that only the two of them seemed to understand, jokes about the porcelain teacups not being as hardy as clay and other odd inside jokes. After a couple of hours, their lunch was undoubtedly over and it was time for Jean to go. He refrained from curtsying, as he now realized how it would have been inappropriate to someone like Esme. He bade the family farewell from the dining room as Angela escorted him to the front door.

"So, that went better than I expected," Angela admitted. "I half expected Madeline not to show up, so it's a miracle she stayed as long as she did."

"Has she always been like that?"

"Oh no, she was very sweet once. But the royalty has gotten to her head, which is quite funny since it didn't happen to Esme, who's actually royal."

Jean nodded silently as they approached the front door. They stepped out through them and paused at the top of the steps. His horse was waiting for him in the nearby stable. "Thank you for tolerating them; I know they can be a handful."

"Not at all. I like Esme and your mother. I'm happy I was able to meet them. I hope to see them again sometime." Jean said truthfully.

"Do you have family you wish me to meet? I'd be happy to return the favor." Angela offered.

Jean's expression darkened, "No, I don't. I'm an orphan. Grew up a village or two away in a home with others like me. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. We don't choose our families after all." Angela reminded him, placing a hand on his shoulder in an act of reassurance.

Jean smiled at her and felt the urge to reach out and kiss her, but he stopped himself. "Well, I should be off. I'll see you tomorrow? I have a fresh batch of glazed pieces if you'd like to help me paint."

"I'd love to, you can expect me tomorrow afternoon" Angela assured, giving him a quick hug before waving him goodbye. She watched him go for a moment before heading back inside to immediately be greeted by her cousin standing by the window next to the door with her arms folded. "Ange, when are you going to give that man the time of day?"

"Beg pardon?" Angela said a bit hotly, a little irritated Esme was confronting her.

"You know what I mean." Esme pressed.

"I care for him, that's all." Angela said quickly.

"He's mad for you, Ange. Are you really so blind as to not notice that?" Esme asked, and despite the fact that Angela was unhappy to be having this conversation it felt wonderful to be so familiar with Esme again.

"I know he likes me, he told me."

"And you just aren't interested and are stringing the poor man along?"

"No it's not that it's …"

"Yes?" Esme managed to make the word five syllables long.

"I don't know. I don't know how I feel about him. He's an amazing friend and we get along so well. I don't want to ruin it."

Esme couldn't help but laugh. "Right, because a kiss from time to time is what ruins a friendship."

Angela shot her a glare, "Leave me alone."

"No." Esme said, her tone shifting. "You have a chance to have real happiness. He is a good man, that much is obvious. I've never met a man quite as polite or kind as he is. You would be a great match with him. I won't have you passing up on the opportunity of a lifetime of happiness." She was completely serious. It was too late for her to find true love, she was going to be stuck married to the King — unless, of course, she had a girl growing within her.

Angela patiently heard her cousin out, listening carefully. She understood why she cared so much, but it did nothing to alleviate her fears. If she opened herself to being in a relationship with him, it meant she was opening herself to a terrible ending too. She would have to open herself to the possibility of immense heartbreak. "But what if something goes wrong? What if he stops loving me?"

Esme sighed and shook her head, "That's a risk you're going to have to be willing to take. It's the risk of something going wrong. I took the risk and it ended badly for me. It doesn't have to end badly for you. I don't think he's like that."

Angela sighed and thought for a moment before looking up at her sister, her cousin, her closest and dearest friend, "You think I should?"

"I know you should."

* * *

 _The Next Afternoon_

Angela stood in front of Jean Potts' front door and took a deep breath before knocking resolutely on the door. A moment passed and it opened. Jean stood in the doorway, "Ahh, I was hoping you were still coming! I've got a couple of teacups dying to be painted. Come in, come in." He offered kindly, moving aside so she could enter. She did so quietly, without a word. He shut the door and Angela immediately turned to face him.

"Is something the matter?" He asked when she just rigidly stood before him.

"Yes." She said without elaboration.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked kindly, curious and concerned all at once.

"I —" Angela started, but decided that words were not going to be useful at this point. So instead, she rested a hand on his scraggly jaw and leaned forward and kissed him. It was as awkward as most first kisses are. Jean was taken aback with surprise but quickly returned the affection, holding her close. Eventually, the two separated and had a long conversation as they painted their teacups together, all smiles.


End file.
